


Often Go Awry

by Loz



Category: Go On (TV)
Genre: F/M, Matchmaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:46:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loz/pseuds/Loz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lauren lives her life by a strict set of rules, a code of conduct. Everything is counted, weighed and considered so that she can be clear that her choices were appropriate, proportionate, and informed. It isn't always easy, it takes a lot of discipline, but she's lost without structure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Often Go Awry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lindseyleewells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindseyleewells/gifts).



Lauren lives her life by a strict set of rules, a code of conduct. Everything is counted, weighed and considered so that she can be clear that her choices were appropriate, proportionate, and informed. It isn't always easy, it takes a lot of discipline, but she's lost without structure. She has what her former friend Brenda used to say was an addictive personality. She'd always thought this was supposed to be a compliment, but it turned out it was an indictment. Lauren can't help it -- she gets caught up, entangled in glittering, attractive snares. Food, shopping, other people's problems... she becomes obsessed.

This is why Steven is so very bad for her. Steven, with his ready smile, his sense of humor, his way of dealing with someone like Ryan while still coming away relatively unscathed. He doesn't live like she does. He doesn't need to. He breezes through life without a plan, without a clue that there are consequences for every choice. Lauren's gotten skilled in self-denial, and even though she doesn't want to, she's going to deny herself Steven. It's precisely because she doesn't want to that she must.

*

Sonia and Yolanda are trying to convince Owen to join their kick boxing class. George is telling Mr. K. about his favorite record. Anne and Danny are attempting to translate Fausta's recount of her weekend. It's a typical group session. The only thing missing is Ryan, but Lauren's sure that'll change soon. He likes to make an entrance. She introduces the day's topic over the clamor of voices, proud of herself for a question that will hopefully inspire a lot of productive self-reflection. 

And, of course, that’s when the door bursts open. She's waiting for Ryan to lead with some epiphany, a long and sprawling narrative used to illustrate everything he's learned and advocate how they should all follow his example. But it isn't Ryan at the door. It's Steven. He's out of breath, has a worried frown etched across his features, and she hates how she has an immediate visceral reaction to him, like she's a wind-up toy and he's her key. (She’s been attending a writing workshop every second Tuesday. She’s picked up so much.)

"I need your help," he gasps loudly.

"Whose help?" Anne asks back.

Mr. K. shoots up, hands poised like a meerkat’s paws. "Is my dearest in trouble?" 

"Pfft, it's probably nothing," Sonia counters.

Steven bounces on the spot. "Ryan's locked himself in the sound booth and refuses to come out. I need everyone, please."

He turns on his heel and runs, like he's expecting them all to just follow. Which, naturally, they do.

Lauren tries to phone Ryan as everyone debates which cars to use. He isn't picking up. If it were anyone else, she'd be contacting the authorities, but she wants to see him before she reacts. It's really hard to tell if something's an overreaction where Ryan's concerned. Danny and Anne lose their coin flips so they all crowd into their cars. Lauren finds herself crushed between Steven and Yolanda in the back of Danny's Hummer.

"What happened?" she asks Steven.

She hasn't spoken to him in a month and a half. She's seen him, from afar, enough to wave at from a safe distance. She hasn't been able to smell his cologne, or hear his smooth voice. Hasn't had his whole attention fixed on her. It's heady in the worst way.

"I don't know!" he says, still sounding strained. "He muttered something about Janie and then holed himself up, refusing to budge an inch even though Clint Copperstone has a 3 hour radio show starting in,” he looks at his phone, winces, “23 minutes.”

Sonia twists to look over her shoulder from the front seat. “Clint Copperstone’s that new shock jock, isn’t he? Went on a rant about how footballs should still be made of cat guts? When we all know footballs were never made of cat guts in the first place. Kinda seems like Ryan should stay exactly where he is.”

“We had four sponsors pull out funding last time Copperstone was late on air. He was late by thirty two seconds. This is a huge deal.”

“We’ll do our best to help,” Lauren tells him. She’s aiming for reassuring, but to her mind she sounds insecure. 

Steven looks at her like she’s sunshine. She’s finding it difficult to come up with suitable similes when he’s focusing on her so attentively. 

At K-BAL, Carrie is pacing back and forth in front of the glass of the sound booth. Every second word uttered is a word Lauren’s never heard before, mostly because it’s a combination of the profane and the ludicrous. Her favorite is probably fuckwaffle. Anne looks impressed.

On the other side of the glass, Ryan is red-faced and wearing a giraffe onesie. So, should she have called the police? An ambulance? Maybe the fire department.

“This too drastic for you, Lauren. You go make the coffee. A lot of the coffee,” Fausta says, shaking her head sadly.

“Too drastic? This is what I’m here for,” Lauren replies. She can feel herself slipping into Ryanisms. Her eyes are narrowed, her hands are excessive in their movements. “When did we all start forgetting that I’m not in the group for therapy? I’m the therapist.”

“Fausta’s right,” Yolanda cuts in. 

That’s not right. Yolanda’s supposed to be on her side. She always has Yolanda, even when she doesn’t want to.

“I’ll have a mocha,” George says. “Velvet smooth like my soul.”

She lives her life by a strict set of rules and one of those rules is ‘listen to the group’. It’s one that’s had a tendency to bite her on the ass on more than one occasion, but she’s come to realize that if she ignores the group things only get worse. 

“Owen, would you—”

“Noooooo.”

“But you don’t even—”

“I’m not helping you with the coffee. You think just because I’m a young, vital, man full of machismo that I don’t have anything valuable to contribute to Ryan’s continued wellbeing? That I don’t have any kind of meaningful, useful sensitivity? I know him better than any of you.”

“Well, then, Danny?”

Danny leans in. “I would love to help, Lauren, but Sonia just told me that the smell of coffee reminds her of her childhood kitten Tiramisu. We’ve gotten so close lately. I can’t risk it.”

Anne and Mr. K. have disappeared. The others are all attempting to converse with Ryan through the glass. Ryan’s doing his worst impression of Buster Keaton. Or perhaps it’s Charlie Chaplin. It’s terrible, regardless. His fake crying has all the ugliness of real crying and none of the sincerity. 

“I’ll help,” Steven says, shrugging lightly. “I’ve already tried every ace up my sleeve. He won’t listen to me. That’s sorta how he ended up with all of you in the first place.”

Lauren resigns herself to her fate. 

The thing about Steven is that he’s personable without even trying. He helps Lauren write down everyone’s orders, drives to the nearest Starbucks, waits with her in line. He tells her about the last holiday he took and how he ended up in Cancun, when he was supposed to be skiing at Whistler. She listens; rapt, horrified, amused. 

“I have no sense of direction,” he says with a winning smile. “It’s my fatal flaw.”

“Do you mean literally or figuratively?”

“Both.”

“You’re not ambitious? You don’t have dreams?”

“Yeah, I do, but I’m content with things happening in their own time. I think if you plan too much you can end up restricted, you know? Hemmed in? Caged.” 

“If you don’t plan, you end up in Cancun.”

“Exactly. I had such an awesome time. I’d never have expected it.”

Lauren thinks about that as Steven orders the drinks, about the balance between living life in an organized fashion, with routine and rituals and set expectations, and living life by the seat of your pants, never knowing what’s coming next.

“It seems a shame we only ever get to do this when Ryan’s having a crisis,” he says, rocking back on his heels and staring at the menu board as they wait for their drinks to be made. “I mean, thanks to your group sessions he only breaks down once or twice a month these days.”

“And even then, sometimes it’s a matchmaking ploy.”

“Oh, you picked up on that too, huh?”

“Ryan was wearing a onesie. Fausta used the word drastic. Several key characters mysteriously vanished. It had all the hallmarks of a Yolanda script.” 

“It’s funny, in a way. I’ve wanted to get you alone for a while.”

Lauren looks at Steven, really looks at him. There’s nervous anticipation in the set of his shoulders, in the slight upward tick of his lips. She sighs, because she doesn’t want to hurt him. She doesn’t want to shoot down any future potential between them. There’s something about holding onto that spark that the realist in her thinks is dangerous, but the romantic in her knows is dangerous. 

“I like you, I do, but I’ve only just gotten out of a long term relationship. I don’t know for sure if I’m ready to date again.”

Steven turns until he’s facing her, earnest in a way she’s never seen him before. “Maybe you don’t have to know for sure?” He gestures with the tray of coffee cups. “No pressure! Tell me if I’m overstepping the mark. But I’d be willing to wait and see with you.”

Lauren has an exceptionally strong self-will. She lives her life by a strict set of rules, a code of conduct. Everything is counted, weighed and considered so that she can be clear that her choices were appropriate, proportionate, and informed. Steven is pretty much the opposite of her in every way. 

And that’s why she stands on her tip toes and presses a kiss against his cheek. He twists into it, until her second kiss lands on the corner of his lips. He smells even better up close, like a promise, like hope. (She maybe needs to keep attending writing classes. Do abstract ideas even have scents? It doesn’t matter. Sometimes the consequences of her choices are the best things that have ever happened to her.)

*

Ryan’s still stuck in the sound booth when they get there. Anne’s sitting alongside him, with Mr. K. dangling precariously from an air vent in the background. Sonia’s taking pictures. Owen’s recording multiple Vines. Carrie’s yelled herself hoarse and is sitting on George’s knee. They all take their coffees, barely paying Lauren and Steven any attention.

Anne holds up a sign in response to Lauren’s questioning hand gestures. 

“This fucknut broke the lock,” is scrawled in untidy chicken scratch. She points at Ryan.

“Why didn’t he come out when we left? The ruse didn’t have to keep going, did it?”

“What ruse?” Yolanda asks, sounding suspicious. “Was there a ruse I didn’t know about?”

“If there was, I wasn’t told either,” Danny says, tone wounded.

Fausta frowns at them all. “What is ruse?” 

“Come on,” Steven says, taking Lauren by the elbow and leading her toward his office. “Why don’t we combine forces and make dinner reservations at five different places, then decide which one to actually go to when on the road?”

Lauren likes that idea. There’s just one thing – 

“What about Ryan? What about Clint Copperstone?”

Steven gazes at her, half adoration and half persuasion. “What about we let everyone else deal with our problems for a change?”

That sounds like Lauren’s kind of plan.


End file.
